


Stretching

by slugmanslime



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Babies, Domestic Fluff, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-11-07 00:26:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11047473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slugmanslime/pseuds/slugmanslime
Summary: With Goku gone and a household to maintain, very pregnant ChiChi has to muscle through growing pains to get things done. Or does she? Perhaps a certain Namekian would be willing to lend a hand... One-shot Drabble. Dragon Ball Z and any affiliated characters are owned by Akira Toriyama! (not me)





	Stretching

It might be difficult for the average woman to adjust to the feeling of a baby having a tantrum in the womb, but Son ChiChi is no average woman and her babies do not simply have tantrums, oh no. While her firstborn was rather mellow, surprising given his astronomical power level, her youngest son was proving to be very easily excitable. On days where all she wants to do is hang up the linens to dry and mop the kitchen, she is often forced to take frequent breaks, bent slightly at the waist and gasping, while baby Goten does backflips off of her ribcage and uses her small intestine as a jump rope. 

It seemed that today was going to be one of those days; they were beginning to happen more often the closer she was getting to her due date, and ChiChi finds it to be both a blessing and a curse that her little boy’s gestation period would be seven months rather than nine. With Gohan’s schoolwork done for the day so he could make a break for the Lookout, and breakfast dishes that needed to be washed, ChiChi took a deep breath and hoisted herself from the kitchen chair she had collapsed in when Goten started practicing the mamba. The expectant mother clutched six months’ worth of baby belly in one hand as she waddled to the sink with a stack of plates in the other. Depositing them in the sink and taking a moment to wince, ChiChi rolled up her sleeves and got to work. 

While she was still heartbroken and angry, not much had changed with her Saiyan husband wishing to stay in the Other World. She could commend him for wanting to keep them safe—but she still felt that he was going about it all wrong. What good would it do for him to be gone if trouble reared its ugly, alien head regardless? A few short months had passed, and it seemed as though every person who knew her had tried offering condolences in one way or another; the cottage was filled with flowers for two weeks straight, suffocating her in loneliness, muffling her curses at the lost husband who never seem to really come home, even when he was alive. Her scrubbing faltered for a moment before continuing. Well, it wasn’t as if she and her little boys were all alone… 

\---------------

Piccolo hovered a few yards above the roof of the Son cottage, silently tracking Gohan’s ki as he raced to meet Dende for who knows what. If he was a betting man, he would put money on them cracking open one of those ancient Namekian tombs and spending hours drooling over it. Deep in meditation, his lips quirked upwards only the slightest at the thought. Gohan was his closest friend, but the boy needed interaction with those his own age, and who better for the strongest fighter on either to befriend than the planets guardian himself?

Gohan’s ki was not the only one he was keeping tabs on at the moment. Beneath him in the cottage, he could feel two more sets thrumming with vitality. Although ChiChi would never admit it, he knew that his help was always wanted and appreciated; he supposed it had just never become a thing to consciously vocalize it, lest it become awkward for the lot of them. Piccolo had always been close, even when Goku was alive, always hovering and always around. But it wasn’t until cracks in the foundation had started to show that Piccolo came even closer, allowing himself to get sucked into the mundane of everyday life with the Sons. And on some level, he even admitted that sometimes it was enjoyable.  
Animated swearing cut his meditation sessions short, and his unconscious smirk vanished as his ears perked. Piccolo dropped to the ground in an instant, but the curses had slowly started dying off. Chichi’s voice had been laced with pain, and the Namekian wasted no time barging through the too-small front doorway. To his increased confusion, he could smell no blood, and as he peered at the tiny woman doubled over and clutching the sink so hard the aluminum was warping, Piccolos anxiety spiked. 

“ChiChi, what’s going on? Is—is this labor? You’re very early, I should call that doctor to see—,” The very hand that had been crumpling the sink like a soda can whipped up, motioning for him to be silent. Piccolo’s mouth shut with an audibly click, fangs knocking against each other.

\---------------

A few moments later when she was able to speak, it was hardly more than a hiss. “Trust me, Piccolo, I know what labor feels like. This… is Goten stretchiinngg…”

The surly Namekian stays hunched for a moment longer before completely entering the house and standing at his full height, violet tinging his ears. He had been truly frightened for a moment, thinking he had this spitfire woman about to have a Saiyan baby right in front of him. His arms crossed over his broad chest, talons curling around his bicep as he gazed down at her, brows furrowed. “You look like he’s ripping you in half. Is that even normal?”

Almost immediately he regretted speaking as her head tilted upwards, melting him to the spot with her fiery gaze. Sweat beads dotted her face and her mouth is set in a grim line; haggard is an expression she had been sporting for too long and there was something about it that tugged at Piccolos chest. 

“Well I dunno know, is bein' pregnant with a half alien child normal? Idiot!” Although her voice is sharp, it’s becoming apparent that Goten’s movements were becoming less agitated. They shared few more moments of silence punctuated by ChiChi’s panting, and finally she stood, wiping her sweaty palms on the front of her gown. Piccolo took this opportunity to come closer, peering around the nearly completely cleaned kitchen for something to do. She had beaten him to nearly everything, and he frowned down at her.  
Chichi gave it right back, hands placed on her hips, cocking one to the side with a sass that comes as easily as breathing. “Don’ give me that look, Piccolo! Yah know when I need help yer the first person I call.” Her face softens some, and she gives him an apologetic smile. “You shoulda seen the look on your face though. Priceless! Yah looked like you’d seen a ghost.” She doesn’t bother trying to stifle her giggles at his discomfort.

“Oh, come off it! How was I supposed to know?” His frown weakened into a scowl, his ears growing a shade darker at her teasing. The concern hadn’t left his eyes at all however, no matter how gruffly he was speaking. It doesn’t go unnoticed by his companion either, even as she sighs and returns to her seat at the kitchen table, hands folded over her stomach. 

“Okay, yah wouldn’t know, yer right. I was just pokin’ fun, Piccolo, don’ be such a ‘fraidy-cat. Hey, c’mere, let me show you something—quick, before he calms all the way down!” Beaming in a way that only a mother-to-be can, ChiChi motioned for him to approach, holding one hand out for his own. He shuffled over to her after a long minute of hesitation and her beckoning with increasing annoyance. Once his hands slipped into hers— or rather, he engulfed her hand with his own— she guided it to her distended stomach slowly, and placed the taloned appendage atop it. 

Any other mother may have been terrified at the sight of a huge green hand equipped with claws sharp enough to put any razor to shame so close to her unborn child, but again, ChiChi was no ordinary mother. Time and time again it had been proven that she could trust this snarky alien leaning over her, jaw slackening in awe at the little kicks and rolls her Goten was performing. Something fuzzy tickled her heart just at the sight of him, unable to hide the intrigue and fondness blooming in his gaze. 

“Amazin' isn’t it? And he’s actually being pretty tame right now. Usually it feels like he’s trainin' for the next World Martial Arts Tournament.” She felt the coolness of his skin even through two layers of clothing and it was both strange and reassuring. Goten was moving less frequently now, his little feet pushing at her abdomen every other minute, and ChiChi was silently relieved; Piccolo’s fingers twitch to match Goten’s movement, but he could sense her exhaustion as well.

\---------------

“How are you feeling, honestly? And don’t give me any bullshit about being fine because you’ve got…” Piccolo lifted his hand from her stomach delicately only to wave it errantly in the air, giving her a no-nonsense look that she was kind of impressed with. “I dunno, chores or something to do. Gohan and I can take care of that.” There he goes again, signing himself up for menial human crap. 

Teeth worried pink, chapped lips as she looked around the kitchen thoughtfully; a few more hours of rest sounded heavenly, and she was rather frustrated with her unborn son for wanting to act up every time she got busy. “Since when did you become the boss 'round here?” Damn, she could have at least managed to put some conviction behind that. He smirked at her too; he knew she was done for.

“Since you decided to become some kind of Super Mom. You’re catching a break here,” Without warning or notice for her to protest, a pair of burly emerald arms scoop her out of the chair, cradling her to his chest as if she were the newborn, “so take it, and get some rest. The day won’t be wasted, I assure you.”

ChiChi’s protests were falling on deaf ears—purposefully, how could he not hear her yowling and complaining even if his ears weren’t superhuman? —as he meandered through the cottage, ducking down through the doorway of her bedroom. No, his arms did not hesitate to deposit her gently on the bed, and no, his gaze did not linger on the tiny puckered pout that had formed on her face during the trip. Not to mention, he definitely did not miss the warmth of her body curled against his chest, although it seemed that some of it had seeped through into him, his memories. Piccolo had minded that, though. He minded that one a lot. 

“Thanks, yah stubborn jerk. I’m pregnant, not crippled, you had better get the right idea! But since yer here, and you diiid offer…” ChiChi shifted to lean over to her bedside table, swiftly scribbling on the handy notepad she kept there. With a clean tear, she held the list up to her stoic helper, smile sweeter than honey. “Just a few things I had on my agenda today, nothin' a big strong guy like you can’t handle, right?” 

What had he gotten himself into? One hand rubbing his temple, he reached out with the other and plucked the list from her fingers, giving it a once-over before snarling down at her. “What the hell-- there’s at least thirty things to do on here! How could even you do this all in one day?”

“It’s called bein' a mother, you should try it sometime!”

“No thanks, I’m much more suited to meditating and training that brat of yours.”

“Call him that again and you won’t be training anyone anytime soon, especially either of my boys!” Once again, she had matched his expression, but for the life of him he couldn’t figure out how hers was so much more intimidating. Arms crossed in defeat, Piccolo crumbles the list in his grasp and glares down at her. “That’s more like it! But honestly, make up yer mind, because I need all of that done today. Now, I can do it mahself, or I can stay put, so what is it gonna be?” Another withering look was cast in his direction and he bit his tongue—she was obviously crabby but it wouldn’t do him any good to say so. 

“Oh, damnit all woman, it’s a few menial chores and some heavy lifting. Don’t worry your chatty little head.” The former demon gave her a once over, picking up the far edge of the blanket and tossing it over her as if to make his point. “I’ll take care of the big stuff and pick up the br—Gohan, to finish the rest. Won’t take more than a few hours—long enough for you to take a nap. And bathe.” He didn’t need to crinkle nose to illustrate, but he did it anyway, just to see that cute enraged look on her face.

Wait, he didn’t mean cute, he meant…

His train of thought was cut short by a pillow to the face, and he couldn't help the bark of laughter that escapes his mouth before he tosses it back. His cape swirled upon his exit, its swooshing not near loud enough to mask her searing remarks but he simply smirked to himself, and shut the door. If ChiChi wasn’t tuckered out before, she damn well had better be now. The same cape that helped him escape fluttered behind him in the breeze when he strode out of the cottage, pouring over the list once more; Piccolo had no regrets about putting her on bed rest for today, and no matter how standoffish he was, he could at least admit to himself that he was worried for her. Now, why exactly was a can of worms for another day…  
\--------------------

When was the last time the headstrong woman had been manhandled in such a fashion without her consent? ChiChi flopped back against her pillows and drew the blanket up to her chin, thinking of her late husband. Albeit careless sometimes, he had loved hoisting her up to grab things or spinning her around when he was elated about something. Sadness tinged the smile on her lips, fingertips brushing the swollen area of her stomach. She was unsure if Goku had even known about his second son before he died, and the thought turned her expression bitter. It didn’t matter now, anyway. Exhaustion was creeping up on her, and in the mist of sleep the image of Goku smiling down at his firstborn morphed into one of a fanged smile framed by green lips and a clawed hand jostled by the movements of another Saiyan child to come. Sorrow lost out to the content of an assured mother, but it was debatable whether she’d remember when she awoke.


End file.
